


don't forget, i love you

by rumpledlinen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s waiting for him at the airport, just outside the gate. She’s wearing joggers that belonged to him once and a nice shirt he doesn’t recognize, her hair in a plait going over her shoulder. </p><p>He grins when he sees her, running as much as he can. There are girls shouting for him, and he stops for a few pictures, crinkly-eyed smile in full effect. (He’s been trying to do this less; it gets to him, all the pictures, all the smiling, but he can’t pretend he’s not ecstatic to see her.) </p><p>She hugs him tight enough to hurt when he gets to her, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I missed you so much,” she breathes. They’ve gotten better at this, being apart and then together, but that doesn’t mean it’s not terrible, doesn’t mean that since the tour he’s not missed her like anything. </p><p> </p><p>or, four Christmases Eleanor and Louis spend together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't forget, i love you

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry for the fluff. title from vienna teng's "the atheist's christmas carol". this didn't happen probably maybe. 
> 
> thank you, thank you, thank you to incandescentwings for the beta. <3

year one 

Louis goes home to Eleanor on the day before his birthday. 

She’s sitting in his house, playing with Lottie and Fizzy, and when Louis looks up she grins at him. She’s got a Santa hat on and a shirt with reindeer antlers, and Louis - he drops his bags and holds out his arms, tilts his head. “Can I have a hug, then?”

She laughs and goes to him, kisses him on the cheek and gives him a hug. She whispers, “I missed you so much.” She flushes bright pink and turns away too quickly, going back to Lottie and Fizz. 

They’ve only been together a few months (Halloween was a wonderful night, Louis thinks about it all the time) but Louis thinks this is love; he thought he had it with Hannah, but he’s never had this absolute contentment before.

He sits down next to her and joins in their game of Cluedo (you can join my team! Lottie shouts, grabbing him with syrup-sticky fingers, and he pretends to be annoyed, but Eleanor nudges him, can see right through him), and he’s never felt this kind of contentment before.

Later, when the lights are all off and it’s just the two of them in Louis’ room, Eleanor sits up, biting her lip. “So I got you something,” she says, standing to go to her bag. She’s beautiful, in her red pajamas and hair in a loose knot. 

Louis smiles. “You didn’t have to,” he says. 

She shakes her head at him, sitting back down, and hands him two gifts. They’re even wrapped in different papers; one says Happy Birthday and has a demented-looking squirrel, and the other snowmen with Happy Holidays! on it. 

Louis bites his lip, looking at her. He flips his fringe out of his face, grinning too wide to help it. “You got me two gifts,” he says.

She shrugs, picking at her nails. “I know it’s too, like”--she waves a hand--“serious, or whatever. But I figured it’s got to suck having a birthday on Christmas Eve, you wouldn’t be likely to--”

He cuts her off with a kiss. He pulls back just a bit, whispers, “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt--”

She cuts him off with another kiss, but she’s smiling too hard to properly do it. She rolls her eyes when she pulls back, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“You got me two gifts,” he says, voice gone low, tender. I love you, he thinks but doesn’t say. “You’re the first, like--girlfriend to get me two.”

She rolls her eyes. “Only your second real girlfriend, aren’t I,” she murmurs. He can hear the fondness, though, nudges her and winks. “I just care about you, all right?” she says, swallowing. “And I want you to be happy.”

He sets the gifts to the side and kisses her, gentle. “Thank you,” he says, and I love you, he means. 

By the way her eyes shine and she wipes at them with a wet little giggle, he thinks she gets it. 

 

year two 

They’re sitting outside of the Tomlinson house, wrapped in fuzzy blankets. Eleanor’s got a mug of hot chocolate and Louis is drinking tea. 

They’re quiet. It’s nice; there are no paps, not here. They can be quiet, curl together under a blanket Louis has had since he was a little kid and just relax. 

She runs her thumb over the rim of her mug, and breathes out. “What do you think about marriage?” she asks. 

Louis very nearly has a heart attack. “Now?” he asks, clearing his throat to sit up. He feels like, if she’s wanting to get married right now, he should be sitting up to tell her. “I, er--”

She laughs, loud in the still evening. “Not now!” She keeps laughing as she takes a sip of her hot chocolate, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have started with that.” She shrugs. “I just mean--we’ve been together for a time, and I was, er.” She bites her lip. “Wondering if that was in the cards for us.”

“Of course,” Louis says, without thinking. He winces. “I mean--not that I’m assuming anything. I just had thought--yeah. I love you.” He does, had fallen in love with her within a month and told her not long after. He grins, wide enough that the corners of his eyes crinkle. “And you love me, too, don’t you?” 

She smiles at him, a slow thing over her mug. “Guess so,” she says, scooting enough that she can nudge him in the side. “Wouldn’t have stuck with you this long if I didn’t. Horrible pictures of me are published, Tomlinson.”

And, oh, that’s his last name. “Eleanor Tomlinson,” he says, pursing his lips and looking at the trees at the edge of his yard. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

She elbows him again, harder this time. “Louis Calder,” she says, and wrinkles her nose. “Eurgh, never mind.”

“Tomlinson-Calder, then,” Louis offers, not looking at her. His heart’s doing a weird sort of dance in his chest; he’s not sure how much longer this conversation can go before he gets down on one knee or kisses her hard enough that she can’t breathe. 

She breathes out, shaky. “Or Calder-Tomlinson,” she corrects, but it’s soft. She sets down her mug in the snow, turns to face him properly, legs crossed on the porch swing. “Yeah,” she says, nonsensical.

He raises his eyebrow, looking down at his lap. He tries to flick his fringe out of his eyes, a nervous habit, before remembering--he doesn’t have it anymore, he’s cut his hair. He focuses on that instead of this, the--marriage. Shit. 

He’s never been serious enough about anyone to talk about it and it’s--scary, but nice. 

He breathes out, and then kisses her. She tastes like chocolate and cinnamon, and he lets out a little breath into her mouth. “You’re lovely,” he murmurs, “and I love you more than anything.”

When they pull away, her eyelashes are wet and he’s fairly sure his are too. 

She smiles and puts her hand on his cheek. “Love you, too,” she whispers.

 

year three 

She’s waiting for him at the airport, just outside the gate. She’s wearing joggers that belonged to him once and a nice shirt he doesn’t recognize, her hair in a plait going over her shoulder. 

He grins when he sees her, running as much as he can. There are girls shouting for him, and he stops for a few pictures, crinkly-eyed smile in full effect. (He’s been trying to do this less; it gets to him, all the pictures, all the smiling, but he can’t pretend he’s not ecstatic to see her.) 

She hugs him tight enough to hurt when he gets to her, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I missed you so much,” she breathes. They’ve gotten better at this, being apart and then together, but that doesn’t mean it’s not terrible, doesn’t mean that since the tour he’s not missed her like anything. 

He hugs her back just as tightly, pressing his face into her neck. She smells like apples and lilac, soap and perfume. He closes his eyes.

He’s not sure how long they stand there just holding one another, but he pulls back to kiss her. That gets some indignant shouting from the girls standing around, so he does it again, which makes Eleanor giggle.

This close, he can see the tired lines around her eyes, the bags from lack of sleep. He smiles, cups her cheek in his palm. 

“How about we go home?” he asks, lacing their fingers together. “We can have a quiet night in, watch telly until I fall asleep and then tomorrow see everyone else?”

She doesn’t say anything other than “Yeah, okay,” but her fingers tighten around his and he can feel her gratefulness. 

They have a hell of a time getting his bag through all the others in the place, but they get it eventually, barely letting go of each other’s hands the entire time. She drives them to Louis’ (and Harry’s, but he’s with Nick) flat, smiling at him when they finally get inside. 

She presses him up against the wall to kiss him, properly, hands squeezing at his hips and bending down a bit. She’s wearing flats and she’s taller than him. He loves her for it. 

 

She leans her head on his shoulder when they get in. They turn on the TV; it’s late enough that it’s all Christmas movies from forever ago and infomercials. On the screen, Bing Crosby is singing White Christmas.

Eleanor wrinkles her nose. “I hate this movie,” she mutters, picking up the clicker, but Louis grabs it from her, laughing.

“It’s a holiday classic!” he insists; he’d watched it every year with his mum when he was little.

She rolls her eyes but acquiesces. “Fine,” she says, and leans back where she was, hair tickling his neck. Her fingers trace up and down his leg, getting closer and closer to the top of his thigh with each stroke. “But if we’re going to watch it, it’s going to be fun for me, too.”

He goes down on her when the two sisters are singing, and he fucks her while the credits roll. She sighs against him, arches her back, and he thinks dimly that the way she looks at him may be his favorite thing of all.

 

“Don’t leave,” she whispers, head on his chest. They’re watching A Charlie Brown Christmas now, Lucy on the screen complaining she’s been kissed by a dog. There’s no real humour in her voice, though, just a lingering sadness. “Don’t leave me again.”

He swallows, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” because he will, because this is his band, his time to shine and he can’t give it up. 

She nods, arms tightening around him for a moment before relaxing. “I know,” she says. She sounds resigned. 

He bites his lip. “You’re forever, though,” he says. “Right now I--I have this, but--forever, yeah?” It’s a poor speech; he’s never been one for grand declarations, not in seriousness. He’s suddenly, blindly terrified that she’ll leave him. 

“I’m not leaving you,” she says, because she knows him better than anyone else, even his mum. “I just wish, sometimes.”

He nods, presses his lips to the top of her head and leaves them there, breathes her in. “I love you so much,” he gets out, eyes suspiciously wet. 

She hums and presses herself closer to him, and he pretends not to see her shoulders shake. 

 

In the morning, she makes him breakfast; Harry’d bought a waffle iron forever ago and she uses it for the first time, burning one and then making two that are decent. He sits on the counter and she stands between his legs. They kiss lazily until Harry bursts in, all smiles and hugs for the two of them. 

Louis kicks her leg under the table, smiles at her, and thinks forever with an air of soon that he hasn’t yet felt. 

 

year four 

He takes her out for his birthday, in 2014. 

She’s got a white knit cap and his jacket on, and they lace fingers and walk down the street, just the two of them. Things are always calmer when he’s home, and he can breathe easier for it. 

He takes her to see a film and that’s less calm, but when it goes dark she cuddles into him, puts up the armrest so he can hold her next to him. Their heartbeats sync up and--this, this is the most comfortable he’s ever been with a person.

He falls asleep halfway through the film, only wakes up to her pressing a kiss to his cheek as the credits start, nodding at the door so they can try to make it out before the rush.

(He ends up having to stop for forty-five minutes to sign autographs and take pictures, but she doesn’t seem to mind for once, smiling indulgently and agreeing when some of the girls ask her to take a picture with them, too.) 

When they’re back in his car, she smiles at him, wide and easy.

He catches her eye in the glint of the streetlights, can’t help smiling back. “What?” 

“I just love you,” she says, simple. 

He bites his lip. 

In his pocket, the ring box sits, heavy and imposing. He knows--hopes--she’ll say yes, but he needs to find the perfect moment, needs to make it wonderful for her. 

She’ll be telling the story for the rest of her life, after all (at least, that’s the idea). 

They get back to his house and he stops in front of it, letting the car turn off and just sitting there. 

She frowns at him, reaching over the gearshift to grab his hand. “You okay, babe?” 

He nods, and tilts his head toward the house. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He gets out quickly and gets down on one knee, right there in the snow. 

Her eyes go wide, and her hands fly to her mouth. “You--” she starts. 

“Eleanor Jane Calder,” he starts, soft and slow. “You’ve been there since I was nineteen and incredibly stupid, and I’m no less now, but I’m absolutely mad for you. Will you marry me?”

She’s crying by the time he’s through, and she nods, hauling him up for a kiss that he’s sure is going to bruise his lips.

“Of course I will,” she whispers against his mouth, arms tight around him. “You’re an idiot, of course I will.”

He laughs, shaky, and wipes at his eyes. “Good,” he says, for lack of something better to say. He slides the ring onto his finger, and the two of them stare at it as the snow falls around them. 

“Fuck,” Eleanor says. 

He laughs, and nods. “Yeah.”

“I say we go with Calder-Tomlinson,” she says, looking at him with a hint of mischief in her eyes. 

“Okay,” he says, light and easy. “Mr. and Mrs. Eleanor Calder-Tomlinson.” He grins. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too,” she says, voice heavy. She nods toward the house. “We should tell them, yeah?”

“Think so.” 

They walk up the drive, arm in arm, and Louis lets the happiness in his chest bubble over, holds her hand tight and doesn’t let go.


End file.
